Three Weeks on the Daedalus
by Sourlander
Summary: Chuck deserves someone special and three weeks on the Daedalus are just enough to make him realize that A story, which is closely linked to my fic "Interrupted". [Complete]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** The idea for this mini story hit me while working on my notes for Interrupted, my Major Lorne centric fic. I just saw a the picture of the guy who'd play Rick Fisherman if it were up to me and it just hit me. You know how these things happen sometimes, right? I really want this story to work on its own as well, so, keep your fingers crossed. But if you don't want spoilers for Interrupted, I suggest you read that fic until Chapter 22 at least.

This story begins in season 3, after the Atlantis expedition is thrown out of the city by the Ancients returning. Chuck and Sergeant Fisherman get cozy.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Sergeant, hold the door!"

Chuck thrust out his hand without looking up once from his book, his hand stopping the elevator door from closing. He heard a soft limping footstep and stood to the side.

"Thanks." The man cleared his voice. "Good book?"

"Huh?" Chuck raised his gaze. "Fisherman? Aren't you staying here with your team?"

The green eyes darted down and Chuck followed his gaze. The cast. Of course, Chuck had forgotten about that. Fisherman had been wounded in a firefight only the day before, so of course he wouldn't be staying in the Pegasus galaxy.

"Sorry."

Fisherman grunted. "It's alright," he said. "My team's gonna be okay without me, plus they also have a couple of Marines and Captain Murdoch of course." Was there a trace of mockery in his voice? Chuck couldn't tell, but he nodded absentmindedly and pushed the button.

"Living quarters?" he asked, his index hovering over the panel on the right.

"Yep…" Fisherman sighed and leaned heavily on his crutch. His light brown hair seemed almost dark in this light, Chuck realized. Not that he'd paid too much attention on the Lieutenant. "We've been assigned to the same bunk, didn't you know? Just glad Doctor Keller's not pushing me to stay in the infirmary."

No, Chuck hadn't heard about sharing a bunk, but he supposed it made sense. A lot of people still had to get home, and all the technicians would be going on the _Daedalus._ Though why Fisherman was going on the ship as well, instead of stepping through the Stargate with most of the other personnel, Chuck couldn't say. "How bad is it?"

"It's gonna take a couple of weeks, I guess. Bone was fractured when I fell. Stupid, really." He managed a smile and shrugged. The firefight had been part of an attempted rescue mission. Three days ago, several geologists had been captured and dragged away. Nobody knew how they'd been taken or where to, and Lorne's team and Murdoch's team had spent the better part of these past few days trying to get them back. And then Lorne had been called back to Earth early, because his wife was in trouble. Murdoch and his team would be staying with the Athosians on New Athos… well, apparently not all of Murdoch's team.

Fisherman stared at the now closed door, his jaw set firmly. He was still relatively new to the Atlantis expedition, and younger than most of his team, so being left to go back to Earth must feel pretty damn frustrating. "Any news of Doctor Lorne?" Chuck asked. Since the Ancients had returned, forcing the expedition out of the city, he hadn't sat at one of the control panels, but Fisherman was part of Doctor Lorne's former team, so if anybody knew, it must be him.

"No," Fisherman grumbled. "But I hope she's okay. She's alright, you know?"

Chuck nodded the elevator doors opened again on the level where the living quarters were located. To be fair, he wasn't looking forward to spending three weeks in this can, and Fisherman couldn't be happy about the prospect either. "I'm kind of surprised you're going back via _Daedalus_," he said, waiting for Fisherman to leave the elevator before him. The other man hobbled a bit, apparently still not used to walking on crutches. Well, it had only been a couple of days.

"I'm an engineer, you know? And I was almost stuck on the _Daedalus_ for good, before a friend dropped out of the expedition and I got his spot on Atlantis itself." He shrugged awkwardly and they made their way down the corridor. Their belongings must have already been taken there by some poor low-ranking airman. "Also, I kind of missed the dial-out to Earth."

"How come?" Keller and her team of doctors must have left with the others about two hours ago. Reaching the narrow door leading to their quarters, Chuck hit the button, which released the mechanism sealing the door and they could enter their home for the next three weeks. A bunk bed, as expected, a narrow desk against one wall and a window. That was something.

He dropped his book on the top bunk. Fisherman, with his injured leg, couldn't possibly sleep there. "Is that okay?"

The Lieutenant nodded and sat down, stretching out his leg. "Why aren't you back home already, Sir?"

_Sir._ Chuck wasn't used to being called that. Not since his transfer to Pegasus and not since he'd essentially taken over the job as a doorman for the Atlantis expedition. Of course his job entailed a whole lot more than just being doorman, but that didn't stop him feeling like one most days. Especially since most people just called him_ Chuck_, almost always forgetting his last name. Not that Livingston was a particularly hard name to remember, but apparently people were more comfortable just calling him by his first name. He wondered if his counterpart at the SGC, Sergeant Harriman, ever had to deal with that sort of behaviour, but then again, the SGC was a completely different place from Atlantis. "Because I'm a technician and Colonel Caldwell wanted to have me onboard. In case something went wrong. I don't know why it should, though. This ship is a masterpiece of engineering."

Drawing up the chair from the desk, Chuck sat down and looked out the window. The _Daedalus_ had set down on the South Pier, and from their window Chuck could only make out the edges of the South East Pier and the few buildings there. "I'm gonna miss this place," he admitted. Two and a half years was a long time to spend in one place, and he loved the working conditions here. Never before had he worked in an environment such as this. Well, of course he hadn't. Next to nobody on the expedition had, maybe except some of the old SGC members.

"Yeah," Fisherman sighed. "And who knows where we're going to end up next. At least the American fellows know they're still gonna be involved in Gate travel."

With a scoff, Chuck leaned back. "Well, I guess we'll see what happens next. Maybe they'll continue this international experiment on Alpha and Beta sites in the Milky Way?" He eyed Fisherman. The other man didn't seem entirely at ease, and when the ship came to life, the engines firing up to take them away from Atlantis, he turned to look out of the window as well.

"To be honest, I always thought I'd never get home. And I wasn't too sorry about that."

Well, that was certainly unexpected. "No family back home? No girlfriend?"

A slight smirk started spreading on Fisherman's face, his white teeth flashing almost roguishly in the dimmed light as the _Daedalus_ left the East Pier. "Adopted family, and they're not too fond of me to be honest."

Chuck pretended not to have noticed that Fisherman hadn't said anything about a girlfriend. Instead he just kept sitting there, staring out of the window and watching the city below them drift away. He felt a pang of regret at not having seen it full from above one last time.

* * *

A/N: Well, the ship has sailed. At least it has for me. What are your thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Two days to get to New Athos. That wasn't too bad, though of course getting there via Stargate took next to no time at all. Really, it was high time they found another ZPM for the _Daedalus_. Journeying between the galaxies would go a lot smoother then, and they might have another base in Pegasus a lot faster. If the IOA _did_ decide to do that at all, which Chuck still doubted. The purpose of the expedition had been to find and acquire new technology and with Atlantis lost to them, Pegasus couldn't really matter to those power hungry politicians, could it? Not even with the whole mess the Tau'ri had created here.

Fisherman was sitting opposite him, stirring the third spoon of sugar into his coffee as they sat in the small cafeteria. His eyes were fixed on the blue and green orb below, where his team was right now. Colonel Caldwell had ordered the ship to stop by here for a short check-in, just to make sure that the team and the Athosians had all they needed. It'd be six week at least before the _Daedalus_ would be back here to check up on them again.

"They're gonna be okay," Chuck said, trying to reassure him.

"Yeah," Fisherman said quietly, taking a sip of coffee, pulling a face and adding another spoonful of sugar. Murdoch had been up here to talk to him briefly, but had of course refused to let Fisherman stay on the planet. Really, that shouldn't have come as a surprise. By now Chuck knew that the man he was sharing a bunk with, didn't just have a broken leg, but also a bullet wound in his right shoulder. Chuck had seen the bandage and knew how much Fisherman tried to lie still while also trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. There just weren't a whole lot of things you missed when you had to share such a small space for a couple of days. "I just feel a bit useless, you know?"

Snorting, Chuck put down his sandwich and shrugged. "Yes, I do."

Raising his eyebrow, Fisherman leaned back, careful not to show how badly the wound hurt him. "Have you_ ever _even been off-world?"

Chuck had to admit, he hadn't expected this to sting as much as it did. "Just for the past two-and a half years," he said pettily. He wasn't a member of any of the Gate teams, but that didn't mean the work he did was entirely inconsequential.

"Yeah, sorry." Fisherman rubbed his long straight nose. "Just a bit testy right now, you know?"

"Have you even been to see Doctor Keller? Have her give you some pain killers?"

With a shrug, Fisherman took a gulp of coffee. "I can manage." He was desperate to leave, Chuck could see that, but it was also obvious that Fisherman wouldn't be able to do that quickly, and so, instead, Fisherman would keep sitting here, staring out of the window, until Chuck left. And Chuck was on his break, and he'd be damned if he'd let Fisherman drive him back to work early. They still had almost three weeks to go on this ship, and Chuck had no interest in spending more time on useless check-ups than was strictly necessary.

"Major Marks said something about a movie night," Fisherman said suddenly without meeting Chuck's gaze. Fisherman wasn't all that talkative, Chuck had realized, and usually Chuck didn't mind that, but being cooped up with someone you didn't really know a whole lot about wasn't too much fun. That was why this casual mention of a movie night took Chuck by surprise. Fisherman had rarely attended those on Atlantis.

"What're they showing?" Chuck asked, glancing at his watch. Ten more minutes until he had to be back at his station with Hermiod.

Fisherman didn't meet his gaze but looked down into his mug. "Does it matter?" Clearing his throat, Fisherman shrugged awkwardly with one shoulder and looked up again. In this light and from this angle, his eyes looked grey. Well, that was a weird thing to notice, Chuck thought.

"No? I guess?" And why wasn't Fisherman blinking anymore? The smile on the other man's face was genuine, when Chuck nodded. "Okay, then. Meet you there after my shift?"

"You got it, Livingston."

Only when Chuck was heading for the elevator to head down to engineering, did Chuck realize that grumpy Fisherman _hadn't_ called him Chuck, and somehow that thought made him grin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

A science fiction movie. A bad one at that.

It was the best choice anybody could possibly have made. Chuck's sides hurt by the time it was over and the residual laughter still hanging in the air as the credits rolled by and his face muscles were aching from grinning. There hadn't been any alcohol involved, and there really didn't have to be. Not with a crew which had spent the better part of the last few years in space or on different planets, in spaceships of different sizes and encountering alien species nobody would have thought possible.

"Chuck, you guys want to join us for a snack in the cafeteria?" Madison, one of the other technicians from Atlantis turned around in her chair, her eyes darting between Chuck and Fisherman.

"I'm beat, to be honest." Fisherman shook his head and reached for his crutches. "I'll let you get to it."

"Alright. Take care." Chuck popped the last of the popcorn into his mouth, as Fisherman got to his feet without too much difficulty, but he didn't start making his way to the door straight away. There were still a couple of people in the room, but nobody was paying him any real attention.

"Uh," Fisherman said, looking down at Chuck and it seemed as though he had a billion things to say. About the movie? It hadn't been that insightful. The green eyes lingered on him for a whole minute and Chuck found his gaze shifting to the small smudge of chocolate on Fisherman's lower lip. "Thanks for coming along, Livingston."

"Sure. Thanks for asking me." Chuck said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

Fisherman just hesitated for one more second, before smiling softly and turning towards the door and Chuck couldn't help but wonder, just for an instant, whether he should accompany him and make sure he got to their quarters okay. But these corridors were manageable for Fisherman, even on his crutches, so he really shouldn't be too worried.

When he turned to face Madison again, he found her staring at him, her eyes wide. "Is he okay?" she asked, making Chuck frown.

"Apart from the broken bone and the bullet wound?" Chuck grinned as he got to his feet as well. "Sure."

Madison grunted softly and shrugged. "Okay. How is he anyway? He's a bit quiet. Hasn't been talking much since he got on board."

"How would I know?" Chuck asked. "What about those snacks? Do they still have Turkey Sandwiches?"

"They better." Madison shrugged into her jacket, as Marks started packing up the projector. "Do you need help with that?"

"No, I'll be with you in a minute, go ahead!" Marks said, shooing them away.

"About Fisherman-" Chuck said, as he and Madison walked through the door, heading towards the cafeteria.

"So you _do_ want to talk about him?"

"I-" Chuck sighed, biting his lip, "I just think he's a bit frustrated that he couldn't stay with his team and about the expedition ending. Anyone would be upset about that."

"Sure, that must be it," Madison murmured as Chuck stood dead in his tracks.

"Madison…"

"Come on, Chuck, you haven't gone out with anyone since that one date with Doctor Parrish a few years ago"

"How do you even know about that?"

Madison raised her eyebrow.

"What?!"

"Everybody knows, Chuck. And everybody knows it was a disaster."

"How-" Chuck swallowed hard, shoved his hands into his pockets and picked up speed. "I'm not talking about it."

"Parrish told Grodin, though," Madison argued, her grin making Chuck feel even more uncomfortable.

"What do you even want from me?"

"Just a bit of gossip." With a shrug, she turned right into the cafeteria while Chuck lingered in the doorway. He really didn't feel like a snack now, but if he left and headed for their quarters, Madison would surely start gossiping.

Cursing silently, Chuck followed her. These long journeys were mostly annoying because people got bored. Really, it was no small wonder pirates in movies threw a mutiny every couple of weeks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

C huck threw himself on the bed. Hermiod was demanding to say the least. He didn't talk much, but when he did, Chuck wished for McKay to be back in charge. Usually, working with Hermiod was alright, except when the human brain couldn't keep up to speed with the Asgard version. That was when the alien got frustrated and started snapping at the humans he was working with. On second thought, Hermiod wasn't too different from McKay. But McKay's voice could be ignored far more easily. Maybe that was the whole difference.

The bed creaked as he moved. Really, these beds weren't the best quality there was. He'd slept more comfortable in cheap motel beds. The squeaking sounds it made when either he or Fisherman shifted would have woken the people in the next room, hadn't it been for the low hum of engines drowning out anything else. White noise wasn't the worst thing in the world.

He closed his eyes and lay perfectly still. Sleep wasn't a bad idea. He did a lot of that whenever he wasn't working. And they still had about a week to go before they got back to Earth. And then? He'd see his parents again and his three little sisters. Not that they were still little, but he'd never lost the feeling that he needed to protect them, even if he'd spent the last two and a half years in another galaxy. What would happen after the family reunion, Chuck couldn't say. He'd be stationed… somewhere. Maybe at Cold Lake, where he'd been before he'd applied for a job he had no idea would take him lightyears away from home. Wherever he'd be sent next, one thing was for sure: he'd probably never see the people from Atlantis again. He felt a little sting in his chest at that. These people had become like his family to say the least. And how could they not? Being basically stranded in the most extreme of circumstances was bound to forge bonds like these. Hell, hadn't he just thought that he was missing McKay?

Chuck sat up, ignoring the creaking of the metal springs underneath his mattress. Maybe sleep wasn't a good idea after all. Maybe he should socialize and enjoy the time he still had with these people. With a bit of luck, Fisherman was still at the gym. Not that the Lieutenant could do too much workout apart from the exercises prescribed by Doctor Keller, but Fisherman was there more often than here in their room. Either Chuck was getting on his nerves, or Madison had a point.

No… no, surely not. Fisherman was staying away from their quarters, because two people were just one too many for a room which barely fit one bunk bed, a narrow desk and one chair. Fisherman was being considerate. That was all. It had nothing to do with the fact that Chuck hadn't joined Fisherman after that movie night a week ago. Why _would_ Fisherman even expect Chuck to join him?

Clearing his throat, Chuck thought that maybe getting a tea or something might not be the worst of ideas. Fisherman wasn't gay. Well, not that Chuck knew for a fact that the other man wasn't, but what were the odds? What were the odds of Chuck accidentally being shoved into the same sleeping quarters as a handsome, tall, snarky man who not only turned out to be gay, but also into baby-faced technicians? Next to zero. Yes, getting out of this confining space really was a good idea.

Dangling his legs over the edge of the bed, Chuck found his gaze lingering on the book lying on Fisherman's pillow and he felt his stomach do a little somersault. How had Chuck not seen this before? He'd heard Fisherman turning pages on the lower bunk, but Chuck had never thought to ask what it was that Fisherman was reading? It was a full copy of _The Lord of the Rings_. Not the first book, or the second, or the third, but all three books in one volume, which made the book extremely big and the letters especially small.

The smile couldn't be detained when Chuck jumped down and examined the copy. The cover already looked like it had been smashed into one duffle bag or the other, but the spine of the book had been broken several times and mended by thick silver tape a couple of times over. "Not bad, Fisherman," Chuck muttered, when he heard a soft thud right in front of the door, followed by a dampened scream.

He dropped the book straight away and waved his hand over the door sensor. Fisherman was lying flat out on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his face contorted with pain, the crutch lying somewhere underneath his body. "Shit, are you okay?!" Chuck's voice was too high, too panicked, but the grunt and attempt at a laugh from Fisherman lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders straight away.

"I slipped," Fisherman grunted again as Chuck knelt down next to him. Only now did he see the sign. _Cation. Wet Floor._ "Damn."

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?" Chuck asked as he carefully helped Fisherman sit up. The other's hand landed on his knee as though by accident. Warm and heavy.

"No, I'm fine. Really." He laughed again, his deep voice sounding almost a bit husky as he looked up at Chuck. "Help me get up?"

"Sure." It wasn't easy. Especially with the cast and Fisherman's inability to bend his knee, but they got him up into a standing position eventually. Chuck swayed for a second, when Fisherman's weight rested on his shoulders and it took him a moment to find his balance. Their faces were so close, Chuck could almost count the freckles on Fisherman's nose. His mouth was so dry, he couldn't swallow. Freckles… how had he never notices those before? They stood in stark contrast to the green eyes… or did they fit just perfectly? Who could tell?

"Thanks," Fisherman muttered, reaching up to pat his shoulder. Releasing Chuck from his task. But he hesitated for a brief moment, his thumb almost casually touching Chuck's neck, moving up and down. Just once. And Chuck found that he wanted Fisherman to do it again. "I can stand on my own now."

All his throat could do was emit a soft clicking sound. "Uhu," Chuck muttered and he let go of Fisherman. "Let me get you that crutch." But he could still feel Fisherman's strong, heavy arms around his shoulders, could still feel the warm breath on his lips. He really needed to spend more time at the gym, or in the cafeteria.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

He probably shouldn't have run off like he had, but the sudden proximity of Fisherman had been more than a little disconcerting. Chuck had never been good at reading signs. The few boyfriends he'd had had read _him_ well enough, but up until this point Chuck had never, not for a moment, considered going out with another member of the military. And here he was, standing in the elevator, two mugs of tea in his hands, and on his way back to their quarters, completely unsure of whether he'd read the signs right or if there had been any signs at all.

Fisherman still refused to go see Keller. Instead, he'd just sat down on his bed and picked up his book to distract himself. And Chuck wouldn't go so far as to order the other man to go to the infirmary. Or should he?

Chuck stepped closer to the panel, feeling immensely stupid. What he should have done was think this through. The heat emanating from the metal mugs was too intense for him to hold both in one hand and he didn't want to risk spilling tea on the panel. That would surely get him killed. Should he use is elbow? Was that a good idea? Probably the best he could hope for right now.

"Need some help?"

Chuck was already half crouched, his right elbow hovering over the panel, when he heard Colonel Caldwell's voice. Clearing his throat, he stood up and greeted the commander of the vessel with a nod. "Thanks, Sir. Level five?"

"Sure." Caldwell hit Chuck's button first, then the number four. "How's your bunkmate? Fisherman, right?"

"Okay, I guess?"

"Hm. He really should have gone home through the Gate. He could be home by now and recovering in his own home," Caldwell said frowning at the panel as the doors closed. The way he said this, almost reproachfully, struck Chuck.

"Sir?"

Letting out a breath, Caldwell shook his head. "He demanded to be put on this ship. Almost like he didn't want to go home."

"He said he missed the dial-out," Chuck said, now frowning himself. Why would Fisherman be lying about that? What was the point? "That you wanted to have him here, because he's an engineer?"

"Chuck," Caldwell said, another person who tended to forget Chuck's last name. "Do you really think I don't have enough engineers on this ship?"

* * *

"Why'd you lie?" Chuck had knocked with his knees and now Fisherman was leaning in the doorway without his crutches.

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows were doing that thing again they did when he was frowning. Before Chuck had never realized how the way they formed two straight lines, turning them into an upside down V made his heart skip a beat, because Fisherman's lips shifted into something very similar to a pout at the same time.

"I'm not mad," Chuck said, pushing past him and setting the mugs down on the desk, right next to the crutches. "Just wondering. Caldwell said, you actually _requested _to go home on the _Daedalus. _I don't get it."

Fisherman hobbled over to him, crossing the small distance between them within a heartbeat. He reached past Chuck to grab one of the crutches, his arm brushing against Chuck's as he did so. His expression was once again unreadable. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," he said and the words took a moment to sink in.

"Bother me? What?"

"Didn't you just say- sorry. No." Fisherman cleared his throat and shook his head. "Guess I should head back out to the Common Room."

"No way!" Chuck exclaimed, maybe a bit too loudly, because Fisherman's face was just inches from his. "I mean-" he stammered, "you just fell, and I went to all the tro- I brought tea!" Well, that was a stupid argument, Chuck thought, flustered. He should Fisherman go. He really should. The image of that terrible 80's movie his youngest sister loved so much flickered across Chuck's mind. Didn't the girl in that movie declare outright that she'd carried a watermelon as a justification to be there? Chuck had sounded just as defensive as that girl.

A soft chuckle was the first answer he got. A sound, which made the hairs on Chuck's forearms stand on end and his knees weak.

"Well, if you brought tea…" Fisherman started grinning then and his green eyes seemed even brighter because of it. "I mean-"

"Why did you request to travel via _Daedalus?"_

But instead of answering straight out, Fisherman dropped his gaze on the two mugs of herbal tea sitting on the table. He still hadn't moved. If Chuck had wanted, he could have touched him without even having to stretch out his hand. He took a deep breath and his chin jerked up for a brief moment, as though ready to speak and the deafening silence hanging between them made it all too clear the explanation wasn't simple. But why?

Chuck swallowed hard. "Rick?" It was the first time he'd said his name and he was surprised at how easily it passed his lips.

"I thought it might be a good idea?" Fisherman raised his gaze again. "Just…" clearing his throat, he tentatively reached for Chuck's elbow. A touch which could mean anything. Which didn't have to be invasive if Chuck didn't want it to be.

"A good idea?" Chuck breathed, his heart hammering fast in his chest. He didn't move, and neither did Fisherman. The hand was still on his elbow.

"I thought I'd use the chance to get to… to-" Fisherman broke off and bit his lower lip and Chuck found himself nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Good idea." A crazy idea. But a good one. If what he thought was happening here was actually happening. But why wouldn't it? Before he could wreck his brains, before another thought could make him pull away, he reached up to touch Fisherman's cheeks. The first traces of stubble on warm and soft skin. It was the first thing he felt, before Fisherman's arms encircled his waist and his lips were on Chuck's, wiping all thought from his mind.

Not… this hadn't been a bad idea at all.

* * *

**A/N**: Well that's it. The end of this little fic(let). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I liked writing it. I also thought posting this fic now and finishing it now that Alex and Evan are on their way back to the Pegasus galaxy in "Interrupted" might be a good idea. Let me know what you thought! Rick and Chuck's story will play its part in that story of course. If you follow me on Twitter, you already know that I just had a fluffy idea for them.


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